Free A Kiss in the Dark by Joan Smith Page A

hallway.
    “The moonlight is so lovely, we are going out for a walk along the shore, Muffet,” she said in a calmer voice to her butler as they hurried out.
    Muffet was not so easily misled; Missy would not be running like a filly to look at the moonlight. He had a fair notion where she was going, and followed after her, taking up a walking stick from the Chinese urn by the door in case there should be blows involved in the lunar excursion. The only error in Muffet’s reading of the outing was that he lay the blame on Melbury, not his cousin, Dauntry. Muffet assumed they had some knowledge that Melbury meant to return and were endeavoring to catch him red-handed.
    Cressida had not thought to change her shoes and found the walking rough over the shingle beach in her kid evening slippers. They saw from a distance of a hundred feet that no lights were lit at the cottage. The only illumination was the ghostly reflection from the dark panes of glass. They stopped to look up and down the beach.
    “We’ve lost him,” Beau said in disgust. “Next time I shall go by myself. I wager that was a smuggling vessel we saw tacking toward Beachy Head.
    “If it was, they did not unload any brandy,” she pointed out. Neither the shore nor the steps of the cottage held any contraband.
    “Perhaps Dauntry was placing his order for next time, or just bought a barrel from them. It might be around here someplace. Let us have a look.”
    They climbed the stone staircase cut into the cliff, up to the plateau where the cottage stood. They poked around the shrubbery without finding anything.
    “He might have taken it inside,” was Beau’s next idea.
    Cressida had begun to lose interest. If Dauntry was doing nothing worse than buying a barrel of brandy, it was of no interest to her. She was relieved to see there was no female staying at the cottage, but she had to wonder why he had intimated there was. If he cared for her good opinion, he would have been at pains to hide it. Of course, Dauntry had no interest in her good opinion. He had made that crystal clear.
    While she reviewed these thoughts, Beau tiptoed up the four stairs to the front door and opened it.
    “It ain’t even locked!” he called to Cressida. “Let us just go in and see if we can find the brandy.”
    “That is none of our concern,” she said impatiently.
    “Is it not, by Jove? He can scarcely refuse getting me a barrel when he has one hidden away himself.”
    “You don’t drink brandy, Beau.”
    “No, but I should like to have a hogshead aboard to offer the fellows a drink when they come. All the crack.”
    Even as he spoke, he was opening the door and slipping inside. Cressida followed a few paces behind. In the hallway, she stopped to peer around. The blinds were not drawn. Moonlight cast a wan light on the small parlor. She could discern the pot hanging at the open hearth, and as her eyes adjusted, she could see that Beau was not in the parlor.
    She went back into the hallway and peered down a long corridor toward the rear of the house, where utter blackness prevailed. After a moment, forms began to emerge from the darkness. That angular construction at the end of the hall was a staircase, of course. And the shadow on it was surely Beau. He was not climbing the stairs, but stood at the bottom, as if listening.
    As she stood, watching, she felt the hair on her arms lift in some atavistic warning. She had no idea how she knew, but she suddenly was absolutely certain that she and Beau were not alone in the house. Nor was the other person a friendly one. Some menacing presence lurked nearby. She turned instinctively to flee, then decided she must warn Beau.
    Staring toward the staircase, she could not discern any other form. With panic rising to engulf her, she took a sudden dash forward, for she feared that to call her cousin would alert the invisible other and bring disaster down on their heads.
    It was about halfway down the long corridor that it happened. One